


A Meditation on Algophilia by ¾ Foot Pegs

by zvi



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: BDSM, Biting, I Saw Three Ships, Multi, Sensation Play, Threesome, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-06
Updated: 2009-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:39:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zvi/pseuds/zvi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darla always turns into a schoolmarm and stalks out when they play this kind of game. But, after all, how many sex games can vampires play that <em>really</em> hurt?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Meditation on Algophilia by ¾ Foot Pegs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sister carrion](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sister+carrion).



> **Requested Element**: sensation play  
> **Notes**: .75′ = 9″. Peg: a nail made of wood.

When Angelus brought out the box, Darla hissed.

"Grandmama!" called Drusilla. "Grandmama, play a game with us." She stood up from her fainting couch and walked to Darla's side, put her head on Darla's shoulder. "You could give us splinters, little shards in pretty patterns, a twiggy forest on the hand…." She traced her index finger on the back of Darla's hand and clucked reproachfully when Darla pulled it away.

"I won't take part in this foolishness." She stood up, grabbed her cloak and settled it over her shoulders. "There's a likely looking opium den two blocks over." She gave Angel a stern look. "You'll put those things away by 3."

Angelus shrugged. "If you don't play the game, me darlin', you don't make the rules. We'll put the toys away when we're tired of playing, and not a moment before."

"Come, come, grandmama. The idea of it, doing something _really_ dangerous, don't it make your blood run? Don't it sound like good times?" Spike had risen from his couch and come to Drusilla's back, had his arms over her shoulders and hands full of her tits.

Darla rolled her eyes and turned her back on them all. "Really, William, I understand you least of all. You profess to, to _love_ Drusilla, and yet you do this. She could be gone all in an instant if one of you trips or is startled. This is madness."

Drusilla cocked her head sideways at Darla, then rubbed her cheek against Spike's arm. "But Grandmama, I am mad, so I must do mad things. Or else I would be sane. He leads me down the tripping path because he loves me and goes wherever I follow."

Darla stalked out, hat clamped to her head, cloak collar too tight about her neck.

"She always turns into a schoolmarm when we do this," said Angelus. "Maybe next time I ought to wait until I've tied her up before I bring these out," he said. He opened the box, inside of which was a collection of pointed wooden objects: pencils, sparring knives, teaching swords, a couple of actual stakes stolen from Slayers (or possibly just unfortunates who had intended to put up tents before they died.) There was also a bag of wood slivers and a bundle of twigs, just as Drusilla had promised. "Take off your shirt," he said. He reached over and, with one hand, pulled Spike off of Drusilla and turned him around.

Drusilla turned and reached around Spike, unbuttoned his shirt. "You be careful with my darling boy, Angelus. I want him to dance, not fly like fairydust." She traced a shaky triangle: nipple, nipple, belly button. "Stay outside the death box, hmm?"

Angelus bent over Spike's shoulder, pressed a kiss to Drusilla's mouth. "I know what I'm doing, darlin'." He laughed and said, "But if you're so worried I don't know the line, let's do this, eh? We'll place a line on his fine, white flesh. Shall I draw it in blood or frame him with wood?"

"Is there a choice to be made?" asked Dru, and then she traced the triangle again, but this time with her fingernail digging into Spike's flesh.

He hissed and jerked his head back, panting, but Angelus had hold of his shoulders, kept him from bucking her off. "I wasn't ready," he said, voice a little sulky. He was panting, but he wasn't sweating yet. Spike's blond hair was still dry.

Angelus picked up a wood sliver, he showed the tip of it to Drusilla, over Spike's shoulder. "Is it sharp enough, do you think? We don't want to start off shoving blunt objects in his skin. Need something to build to, don't we?"

Drusilla opened her mouth, and Angelus dragged the tip of the sliver across her tongue. He scratched her, split her skin the smallest bit, but no blood welled up. "Good enough," he said, "good enough." Then he poked the sliver into Spike's skin, shoved it hard enough to get a length of about six inches firmly under Spike's skin, but not so hard as to break it. Nothing would happen if he just broke Spike's skin with a bit of wood.

But the wood under the skin, that was different. He and Drusilla looked down. Spike, predictably, had his eyes closed. He could take the sensation — in a sense, he enjoyed the sensation — but he didn't like to watch. Around the edges of the stick, the skin went dry, and taut, and _grainy_. It took on an ashy color to fit its texture, and it smelled of dust, of age, of things that had rotted a long time ago.

"Burns," whispered Spike.

"No," said Drusilla. "Fire lives. This is your body made desert. This is death, and it is beatiful." She blew on the skin, then, blew until the dry, grainy skin began to roll down Spike's chest. Then she looked up at Angel, smiled beatifically. "Again, again."

Angelus did it again, faster this time, slivers in each hand, some as short as two inches, one nearly a foot long. Angelus was close to Spike, stepping on Spike's feet to keep him from moving. Drusilla held him, her thin arms like bands of iron around him, her fingers dug into his side like hooks. Normally she would have been evenly matched with Spike, but the wood was killing Spike, and he was so weak this way.

Angelus grinned at him, a crazy, happy smirk as he felt the faint, abortive jerks under his fingers, heard Spike's breathing harsh and fast and all out of time. Drusilla crooned to him, a meandering, high-pitched tune that was interrupted by her kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his shoulders. Her grip on Spike never wavered, never moved from his torso, but her mouth wandered his flesh. She trailed her tongue over the skin that was still firm and moist, although Spike's already pale skin took on a green cast as more of the life was pushed out of him.

When Angelus had finished, he stepped back and admired his handiwork. "Come see, Drusilla," he ordered.

She took a moment to make sure Spike could stand on his own two feet, then walked around to look. "Oh, Daddy," she sighed. "You have hurt my baby, Daddy," she said. "It's beautiful." She reached out with both hands, and traced the edges of the triangle. She mostly kept her fingers out of the band of death three inches to either side. She leaned forward and kissed him, face shifted to the demon because she could smell the decay better that way.

Then she pressed her body to him, pressed the wood deeper inside him, and he finally cried out, a wordless croak that made her laugh and laugh as she cradled his head in her hand and rocked against him. "Oh, my baby," she whispered, drowned out by his cries, "oh, my precious boy. How beautiful you are."

Angelus came and walked around to his backside. He handed her the bundle of twigs, kept the stake in his right hand. "Begin," he ordered.

She did. She knelt at Spike's feet, undid the hooks of his pants, the lacings of his breeches, pulled at his clothes until he was bare from waist to knee. "You always were a sweet boy, a soft boy," she said, fondling his cock, loose and bloodless in her hands. Then she jammed a stick in his inner thigh, angled so it went into the meat of him. "Grow!" she shouted. She gave him a matching stick on the other side. "Grow! I've need of a stiff rod tonight, and I'll skewer your prick and make me a dead dildo." And she squeezed his balls, hard, the way he liked it.

"Drusilla," snapped Angelus. "You're liable to break his prick _off_ if you stick wood in it. Mouth him a bit, if you want him hard. Or stick him with wood, if you want him hurting, and I'll fuck you."

"Really?" she said, and smiled, sweet and happy, like she'd just been given a toddler for a treat.

"After I fuck him. I like him when he's like this, all strung out and soft and groaning." Angelus reached around, pushed at a dusty nipple until Spike tried to back into him, tried to back away. Which was when Angelus placed the stake in his hand at the top of Spike's bare ass. The point was angled downward, but even though it wouldn't powder him, a stake would hurt, hurt more than anything Spike usually took on these nights when they played with the box. "I wonder," said Angelus, damp heat into Spike's ear, "how still you can stay while I'm fucking you." He pressed himself to the back of Spike, pressed the stake harder between them. "How still you want to stay? Because you want to know, don't you? You want to know if William the Bloody is man enough to take a stake and not disappear in a puff of smoke? But on the other hand, the damage it'll do. A foot to either side of the strike, dry and powdery and practically in the grave? Something important might just," he puffed, "blow away? Or get smeared all over the man who's fucking you." And with this, he lifted his hand from Spike's chest, and put his fingers, covered with grey dust, covered with Spike's dead body, in Spike's mouth. "Clean it, boy."

Spike sucked, and turned, and drooled a bit on Angelus's fingers, a grey, gritty slime trickling over Angelus' hand. Angelus growled a bit when he saw it, then leaned over the shoulder. "Drusilla, darlin', you want to give me a bit of a lick, or should I be going in dry?"

"Dry," said Drusilla, clearly, immediately, which meant she wasn't really listening. She was still pressing sticks into his skin, making patterns, playing with depth and angles, angling for more pain.

"Fine then," snapped Angelus. "You may want to back up, I'm going to fuck him hard. You don't want to lose an eye."

"I'm not done poking him," said Drusilla. "Your tide of violence will not upset my balance. I will move with the ebb and the flow."

"What?" said Angelus.

"She said," whispered Spike weakly, "that she can move out of the way of the wood in my thighs while you fuck me."

"Ah," said Angelus. Then he pulled his cock out of his pants and shoved into Spike with no preparation whatsoever. It hurt them both; Spike was tense and tight all over, and the angle was a funny one, anyway. Angelus was curved around the stake, mouth fastened to the side of Spike's neck, teeth hooked in, sucking, and hips slamming away at him.

Drusilla was at an awkward angle, too, leaning back from her knees like a fan dancer, but her hands were up, they held pencils angled so Spike's thighs were driven onto them with every thrust. Spike was screaming now, a continuous vocalization of inhuman torture taken beyond endurance. Drusilla laughed, light and lovely, and then she pulled the pencils back and dropped them to the floor. She stood up. "I'm going to take the wood out, Daddy. I want him to fuck me."

Angelus was on the verge of coming and said nothing, bit Spike a little harder perhaps. But he threw the stake to the floor, and pressed himself closer to Spike. He could feel every shudder that passed through Spike's body as Drusilla pulled the wood, every twitch as what was dead flowed with life again. The resurrection hurt as much as the dying, and Spike's shrieks grew louder as his thighs grew bare and healthy.

And after Drusilla slid the last of the wood out of his legs, she ripped the slivers from his chest. Spike couldn't even scream any more at that point, couldn't shake, just tensed up every muscle in his body. And the shock of the tightness of him drove Angelus over the edge. Angelus threw his head back, screaming his pleasure, arms squeezing the air from Spike's body, hands covered in blood and dust from where Drusilla ripped Spike apart.

When he was done, he sat, rather abruptly, on the floor, and watched in bemusement, while Drusilla held Spike up at the hips and sucked him to hardness. Spike recovered some of his strength by the time he recovered an erection. He didn't fall over when Drusilla climbed around his waist and fucked herself upon him. They were hotter than rockets, both of them, and came off in about two minutes. And they collapsed on the floor next to Angelus when they were done, pleased with themselves and smiling.

"Poor Grandmama," said Drusilla mournfully.

"You having a vision, love? Something happen to Darla?" asked Spike absently. He was stroking her hair as she rested her head in his lap.

"Oh no," said Drusilla. "Only, she has missed a most excellent party."

Angelus near bust a gut laughing.


End file.
